The writer, the grand seigneur, and the business man had, notwithstanding the differences of age and of position, a large experience of analogous circumstances.
They knew of what presence of mind a courageous woman was capable, when surprised, as was the Venetian.

All these have declared since that they had never imagined more admirable self-possession, a composure more superbly audacious, than that displayed by Madame Steno, at that decisive moment.

She appeared on the threshold of the French window, surprised and delighted, just in the measure she conformably should be.
Her fair complexion, which the slightest emotion tinged with carmine, was bewitchingly pink.

Not a quiver of her long lashes veiled her deep blue eyes, which gleamed brightly.

With her smile, which exhibited her lovely teeth, the color of the large pearls which were twined about her neck, with the emeralds in her fair hair, with her fine shoulders displayed by the slope of her white corsage, with her delicate waist, with the splendor of her arms from which she had removed the gloves to yield them to the caresses of Maitland, and which gleamed with more emeralds, with her carriage marked by a certain haughtiness, she was truly a woman of another age, the sister of those radiant princesses whom the painters of Venice evoke beneath the marble porticoes, among apostles and martyrs.